


Out of the Rain

by hutchynstarsk



Category: Starsky and Hutch - Fandom
Genre: Death Fic, Gen, award
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-16
Updated: 2012-03-16
Packaged: 2017-11-02 00:44:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/363141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hutchynstarsk/pseuds/hutchynstarsk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Starsky's death, can Hutch cope?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Out of the Rain

**Author's Note:**

> (This story is The 2010 Ollie Covered Eyes Award winner -- best scary story.)

This is 6 connected drabbles, written originally for the Me&Thee 100 list.  
  


rated PG.

  


  


  


WARNING: THIS IS A DEATH FIC.

  


  


  


  


  


Out of the Rain

  
  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  
  
  
Rain slides off the red roof, rusting undercarriage, rotting tires.  
  
He can’t bear to look anymore, leaves it to rot in the backyard. When the neighbors petition to get it moved, he moves instead.  
  
Then he has to look at it. The car, dying of neglect, where Starsky died for other reasons.  
  
It’s too much. He should’ve let Huggy, Merle—even Nicky—have it.  
  
Starsky would be disappointed. If he were here.  
  
Tears salt Hutch’s eyes. He stands in the rain, stares at the Torino.  
  
Finally he touches its side. “Come on, girl. Time to come out of the rain.”  
  
  
#  
  
It has been so long. He realizes he’s trembling as he approaches. The Torino sits quiet and still, safely in a garage. He’s had Merle work on it. But he hasn’t done this.

  
He opens the door, climbs in. In the driver’s seat, he smells the familiar leather, old-car smell, touches the dash, closes his fingers around the wheel. He strokes the seat.

  
Can almost hear Starsky’s voice. “Love me, love my cah, Hutch.”

  
He leans his head against the wheel, tears icing his view.

  
“I do, Starsk. I love you. I’ll take better care of her now, I promise.”  
  
#  
  
  
Huggy tries talking to him. “He’d want you to use it, man. Not live like this.” He gestures to the car where Hutch sits to think, to talk to Starsky—even to eat, though he’s careful not to dirty it.   
  
Hutch feels like he’s pulling out of depression, but people are getting worried.  
  
“It’s not normal to spend so much time with a car.”  
  
“Maybe I’m not normal.”  
  
Huggy frowns. “At least drive it sometimes. Don’t just…sit there, like it’s a shrine.”  
  
“It’s all I have left of him.”  
  
And then Huggy looks saddest of all. “You’ve got what’s inside.”  
  
  
#  
  
  
He starts to drive it, like Huggy thought he should. Red, refurbished beauty.   
  
Drives it everywhere. One rainy night, he drives too far. No-longer-trustworthy brakes skid, send the two barreling towards doom.  
  
Hutch’s last thought:  _Oh no! Not the Torino!_  
  
Things go black.  
  
Whether it is a trick of the mind, or something more, in that moment he sees Starsky.  
  
“I’d pick you, Bozo.” That trademark Starsky grin. “Come on, pal. Go back and live for me, okay? I don’t care about my car—only you.”  
  
And Hutch, with supreme effort, opens his eyes—gasping, in terrible pain, but alive.  
  
  
#  
  
  
“Wasn’t much left, my man.”  
  
“It doesn’t matter anymore.” Hutch watches rain slide down hospital windows, gently pattering, almost as calming as his partner’s chatter used to be. But nothing ever replaces that.   
  
“Salvaged what we could. They giving you enough pain meds?”  
  
“I’m fine, Hug.”  
  
He’s alive, healing. No Torino, no Starsky, but making it, all the same. He hopes he’s up for living.   
  
 _It’s such a long road, without you, Starsk._  
  
“Merle saved the bumper, mirror, and back seat. And a paperweight. Here. …Sorry.”  
  
Hutch lightly touches the twisted red and white metal, now a small, squashed cube.   
  
  
#  
  
  
A boy leans against Hutch at his desk. “Daddy?”  
  
“Yes, Davey?”  
  
“Why do you keep this?” He turns over the squashed red and white metal block in his small hands.  
  
“It’s from my partner’s old car. I keep it to remember him.”  
  
“You mean Stawsky.”  
  
“Yes. That’s right. Starsky.”  
  
“Was it like our car?”  
  
“No, different—although it was painted the same.”  
  
“Daddy. If you named me after Stawsky, why isn’t my name Stawsky?”  
  
Hutch smiles. “David was his first name. Now it’s yours.” He draws Davey close. “It’s a fine name. He’d be proud to share it with you.”

  


  


  


<<<>>>  
  
  
  
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End file.
